


A Harrington Tradition

by Thei



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Christmas with the Harringtons, Fluff, Kisses, M/M, Meeting the Parents, Soft Boys, Ugly Christmas Sweaters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:27:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28133148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thei/pseuds/Thei
Summary: Billy's about to meet Steve's parents for the first time.At Christmas.And Steve hasopinionsabout the shirt he's wearing.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Comments: 12
Kudos: 85
Collections: Harringrove Holiday Exchange 2020





	A Harrington Tradition

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Amiko](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amiko/gifts).



”Hey babe,” Steve said with a smile as he opened the door. “You’re early.”

“Wanted to make a good impression on your parents,” Billy said and tried to look over his boyfriend’s shoulder into the house. “Are they here yet?”

“No,” Steve said and leaned in for a kiss. “They called from the airport an hour ago, when they landed. Their plane was late, but they’ll be here soon, probably.”

“So we have some time to ourselves then …” Billy smiled and leaned in for another kiss. That grew into several kisses, and they only broke apart when Billy went to throw his arms around Steve’s shoulders and accidentally slammed what he was carrying into the coat hanger with a bang.

“Jesus!” Steve exclaimed. “What’s that?”

With a proud smile, Billy brandished the bottle he was holding in one hand and raised his eyebrows. “I wanted to make a _really_ good impression on your parents.”

Steve laughed at that. “Wine? Are you going to try to _woo_ my mother, Hargrove?”

“Never,” Billy said and leaned back seductively against the door, giving Steve a sultry once-over. “I only have eyes for her son.”

That elicited a groan from Steve, even though there was a slight blush on his cheeks. “Oh, you’re laying it on _thick_ tonight, babe. What brought his on?”

Leaning down to take off his shoes, Billy didn’t immediately reply, and Steve’s smile softened. “Wait, are you nervous?”

“No.”

Steve’s smile grew into a grin. “You are! You’re nervous!”

“I’m not!” Billy said, only a little defensive. “It’s just … It’s Christmas, and it’s my first time meeting your parents, and …” He shrugged one shoulder and wouldn’t meet Steve’s eyes. “And I don’t know, I guess I …”

“What?”

“I just don’t want them to hate me?” Grimacing as if he hadn’t meant to say that, Billy took a deep breath. “I just, I know it’s important to you. And I want this to go well.”

Steve was positively beaming by now. “It’s gonna go great, babe. You don’t have to worry.”

“I’m not _worried_.”

Steve gave him a look that said ‘sure you’re not’, but didn’t voice it out loud. Instead, he grabbed the wine bottle and inspected the label. “What’s this? I haven’t seen this brand before.”

Billy gratefully jumped on the chance to change topics.

“I don’t know,” he said, shrugging. “It was the most expensive one I could afford in the first place where they’d let me buy it. I know nothing about wine, but I figured, the costlier the better?”

That made Steve snort out a laugh. “I know nothing about wine either, but my mom will probably agree with you there. Thanks. They’re gonna love it.” He gave Billy a pointed look. “They’re gonna love _you_.”

At this, Billy struck a pose and gave a cocky smile. “I mean, yeah. How could they not?” He did a slow turn and made sure to wiggle his butt when he had his back to Steve. “Look at me. Their son scored a _ten_.”

Steve gave the jean-clad butt a little slap and grinned when Billy whirled around, fake-outraged expression on his face. “Oh, you–“

“I mean,” Steve said, cutting him off. “You’re not wrong. You’re definitely good-looking.” Billy paused, then hummed in agreement and nodded for him to continue. “You’re smart, and funny …” He pulled on a perfect curl next to his boyfriend’s face. “And your hair is almost as good as mine.”

Billy spluttered at that, and went to slap Steve’s hand away. Steve laughed and backed off, out of range, and gave Billy a mocking version of a once-over from a safe distance. “You’re _almost_ perfect.”

That halted Billy in his tracks, and he frowned. “Excuse me, ’almost’?”

“Yeah, I mean,” Steve said, airily, “It’s _Christmas_ , Billy, and your shirt …?” He looked down on Billy’s shirt with an unimpressed wrinkle between his eyebrows.

“What’s wrong with it?” Billy looked down at himself, trying to find fault with his shirt. His light blue, very respectable, newly-ironed shirt which was even decently buttoned-up. “This is my best shirt.”

“Mm, yeah,” Steve said. “But it’s not very _Christmas-y_ , is it?” Billy wet his lips, looking a little uneasy as he fiddled with a button, and Steve took pity on him. “Luckily, I have the perfect thing! Wait down here.”

With that, turned and bounded up the stairs two steps at a time, and left Billy to wander the first floor. Billy ended up in the living room, which had been decorated for the holidays. Billy and the nerd herd had been over a couple of days ago to help, and the Harringtons had had _a lot_ of fancy decorations (still in their boxes) in their attic. The kids had gotten a bit over-zealous and insisted they use _everything_ , so every available surface was now filled with candles, or garlands, or glitter, or something like it. There was a big tree in the other end of the room which Billy had helped Steve put up only yesterday. When he’d left last night, the tree still hadn’t been decorated, so Steve had obviously finished that by himself, later.

The whole room looked a mess – like the Christmas Fairy threw up all over it – but compared to how it used to look, at least it was a cozy and lived-in mess.

When Steve came back, Billy had sat down in the couch and was pulling lint off a decorative pillow. He was bouncing his leg nervously up and down, but he froze when he looked up and caught sight of Steve.

“What the hell are you _wearing_?”

Smiling serenely while ignoring the question, Steve just walked into the living room and sat down next to Billy on the couch. He was holding a giftwrapped box with a big flashy bow on top, which he handed Billy with a flourish. Billy took it, struck dumb at the sight of the Christmas sweater his boyfriend was currently wearing. It was a knitted monstrosity, red with white and blue reindeers on it. The sleeves were row after row of white, glittery snowflakes.

Billy opened and closed his mouth like a fish. “What–?”

“Aren’t you gonna open your present?” Steve interrupted sweetly, a glint in his eye.

Billy snapped his mouth shut with an audible clacking of teeth, and looked at the box in his hands. Then he looked at Steve. His eyes narrowed in suspicion as he slowly, carefully, pulled the ribbons off. When he opened the box, he leaned back as if expecting something to jump out at him.

Nothing jumped out at him, but his face scrunched up in disbelief at what he saw.

It was another Christmas sweater, arguably even gaudier than the one Steve was wearing. It was bright green. The whole front of it was a cartoon face of Rudolph the red-nosed reindeer. Rudolph was wearing a red scarf, and the text on the scarf was wishing everyone a “Happy X-mas”.

Billy looked at Steve. Then down at the sweater. Then up at Steve again.

“You’re kidding me,” he said, deadpan.

Steve broke out in a smile. “Nope.”

“I can’t wear this.”

“Of course you can, it’s your size. I got it especially for you.”

“But …” Billy gestured vaguely to the hallway. “Your parents–“

“Don’t worry, babe. It’s a Harrington tradition. Ugly sweaters only, for Christmas.”

Billy hesitantly pulled the sweater out of the box. It was soft, and obviously good-quality – but absolutely hideous. He threw a glance in Steve’s direction. Steve only laughed. “Come on, don’t you trust me?”

“Uh, _no_.”

“Aw, you wound me.” Steve leaned in close and threw an arm around Billy’s shoulders, pressed a kiss to his temple. “Just put it on, see how it fits!”

“This fits in a _trash can_ , is where it fits,” Billy murmured, but obediently started unbuttoning his shirt. When he pulled the ugly sweater over his head a moment later, he said, “If this is a joke, I’ll kill you–” and then added, after having looked down at himself wearing it, “–and then I’ll kill myself.”

But Steve seemed happy. He climbed into Billy’s lap and straddled him on the couch, holding his face in both of his hands and peppering his face with kisses. “Not a joke,” he said, and “you look good” and “such a good boyfriend”. Then he raked his fingers through Billy’s hair – already messed up from putting the sweater on – and pulled his head back so he could nip under his jaw, too.

The sweaters were promptly forgotten.

Billy was just getting into it when the front door opened and a voice called out “Steven? We’re home!”

The boys jumped apart and sprung up from the couch. Billy cleared his throat and tried to fix his hair, and Steve licked his lips and pulled his sweater back down from where Billy had been messing with it. They just had time to make themselves presentable before Steve’s parents showed up in the doorway.

“Welcome back,” Steve said and went to give his mother a hug. “How was your trip?” He shook hands with his dad and then helped his mother out of her coat.

“The trip was nice, the hotel was _amazing_ ,” his mother started. “But the flight home was … well, at least we got home in one piece, that’s all I have to say. It’s Christmas, so I’ll leave it at that.” Then she turned to Billy. “This must be William!”

Steve took his dad’s coat too, and then turned to Billy, who stood there awkwardly in the middle of the glittery living room, wearing an ugly knitted sweater with Rudolph on it. “Yeah, this is Billy, my– uh, who I’ve told you about.”

That seemed to jump-start his boyfriend into action, and Billy walked up to them and held out his hand for Steve’s parents to shake. “It’s a pleasure to meet you both.”

Steve’s mom – “Call me Diane, darling” – looked at him from his mussed-up hair and all the way down to his socked feet, and then smiled and turned to her son and raised a perfect eyebrow. Steve’s dad, who introduced himself as Henry, had a firm handshake and gave a small nod as Billy shook his hand.

Steve disappeared out into the hallway to hang up his parents’ coats, and Billy gulped and couldn’t think of a single thing to say.

“I like your sweater,” Diane said, neutrally, and nodded to the knitted atrocity that Billy was currently wearing.

Diane herself was impeccably dressed in a stylish cerise outfit, with pearl earrings and her hair up in an intricate way, not a single strand out of place. Her husband was wearing a suit over a white shirt and a dark blue tie, and looked more like he’d just come back from a political debate, rather than a long flight.

None of them looked like they had been travelling for the past six hours, which according to Steve, they had.

Billy cleared his throat and tried to muster up a smile. It grew a little less forced when Steve walked up to him and nudged their shoulders together.

“Well!” Diane said. “It’s been a long day. Your father and I will go freshen up. Why don’t you boys get started on dinner, and we’ll join you in a minute?”

“Sounds good, mom,” Steve said and kissed her cheek when she leaned forward and tapped it with a perfectly-manicured finger.

Steve’s parents took their bags and walked up the stairs, and once they were out of sight, Billy whirled around and started scanning the room. He stomped over to the couch, craning his neck to look behind it, until Steve asked, “What are you doing?”

“Looking for my shirt,” Billy said between clenched teeth, and finally located it halfway under the couch, however it had ended up there. He bent down to pick it up.

Steve yanked it from his grip and held it out of his reach when Billy made to grab it. “No, Billy! Ugly sweaters _only_!”

“What the _fuck_ , Harrington!” Billy hissed. “Why did you make me _wear_ this?!”

Steve frowned in confusion. “The sweater? It’s tradition, I told you.”

Billy slapped his hands over his face and groaned into them. “I just made a fool out of myself in front of your parents. They’re gonna hate me. So much for making a good impression.”

“No, babe, schhh,” Steve said, wrapping his arms around Billy. “They’re gonna love you. You’re perfect, you didn’t make a fool out of yourself, what are you talking about?”

“The sweater!”

“You look _great_ in the sweater.”

Taking a deep breath, Billy let himself be hugged. They stood there for a while, until Billy was breathing normally again. When Steve let go of him, Billy’s face was red and probably clashed horribly with the awful green sweater.

“I hate you,” he muttered.

“No you don’t.”

Billy sighed. “No, I don’t …”

“Come on, big guy,” Steve said and took him by the hand. “Let’s get dinner started.”

* * *

Billy didn’t change out of the ugly Christmas sweater. Partly because his shirt was now wrinkly from being on the floor and then gripped in Steve’s hand, and partly because the damage was already done. Like some wise person said, ‘There are no second chances of making a first impression’.

They were busy preparing dinner – Billy was peeling potatoes and Steve was pulling things out of the refrigerator – when Steve’s parents came downstairs to join them.

They entered the kitchen, and Diane clapped her hands together loudly. “Ah, I feel better already. Alright, put us to work, boys!”

Steve grinned at them, and Billy turned around to face them too – and froze.

They’d changed out of the clothes they’d had on before. Diane was now wearing loose-fitted pants along with a knitted Christmas sweater – on which a pair of booted legs were coming out of a chimney – and knitted socks that somehow _matched_ it. Steve’s dad was wearing a cardigan with red and white and green squares on it, which were filled with images of every kind of Christmas imagery imaginable; presents, candy canes, wreaths, candles … He was also wearing Christmas-themed socks, and brown slippers.

“Uh,” Billy said, cleverly. Steve threw him a smirk, and then smoothly tasked his parents with setting the table in the dining room.

When they’d left, Steve plucked a potato out of Billy’s hands and smiled at him. “I told you. Harrington tradition.”

“You asshole,” Billy said, breathing out harshly. “I thought you were messing with me.” He leaned his forehead against Steve’s and could feel Steve’s chuckle against his lips. Steve turned his head to the side so they could meet in the softest of kisses.

“I wouldn’t do that.”

“Thought I’d fucked up.” _Kiss_.

“You didn’t fuck up.” _Kiss_. “You’re perfect.”

Yet another kiss, and then Steve took a step back. His eyes were bright. “We better get going with this. My mother hates airplane food, so they won’t have eaten anything since this morning. Besides, I’m getting hungry too. You hungry, Billy?”

Billy bit his lip and made a show to look Steve over; from his perfect hair to his horrible Christmas sweater. “Famished.”

Steve laughed and handed him the potato back. “Then get to work!”

A minute later, during which Billy had resumed his task of peeling potatoes, he glanced over at Steve where he was fiddling with the oven.

“Steve?”

Steve looked up. “Yeah?”

Billy took a deep breath and tried to ignore the way he knew he was blushing. “I don’t hate you.”

Steve’s smile melted into something softer, something between just the two of them.

“I know.”

**Author's Note:**

> Wrote this in a panic, basically, in case the other one wasn't what my recipient wanted. I figured, with two _different_ ones, the chances increase that _one of them_ will be something they'll enjoy ...  
> (Yes, I tend to overthink these things. And no, it has not been beta-read.)


End file.
